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Showing posts with label Excerpt Reveal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Excerpt Reveal. Show all posts
Monday, July 26, 2021

Claimed by J.R. Ward Paperback Giveaway & Excerpt

Fresh off her latest New York Times bestseller Lover Unveiled (April 2021), #1 New York Times bestselling author J.R. Ward introduces a new type of supernatural force with CLAIMED on sale July 27th. This heart-pounding new series set in the Black Dagger Brotherhood world is about a scientist fighting to save the gray wolves—and getting caught in a deadly trap herself. Read the first chapter below and feel free to enter my Claimed giveaway.

For a chance to win a paperback copy please enter on my Facebook or Instagram posts! 

Claimed by J.R. Ward cover and giveaway

Buy Links:

Kindle - https://amzn.to/3zQnQ6T 

Audio - https://amzn.to/2Vhd0I4 

Paperback - https://amzn.to/3x7t507 

Nook - https://fave.co/2Wewn4K 

Kobo - https://fave.co/3y6VdBM 

Apple - https://apple.co/3kXhfmI 


About the book:

Lydia Susi is passionate about protecting wolves in their natural habitat. When a hotel chain develops a tract of land next to the preserve, Lydia is one of the most vocal opponents of the project—and becomes a target.

 

One night, a shadowy figure threatens Lydia’s life in the forest, and a new hire at the Wolf Study Project comes from out of nowhere to save her. Daniel Joseph is both mysterious, and someone she intrinsically wants to trust. But is he hiding something?

As the stakes get higher, and one of Lydia’s colleagues is murdered, she must decide how far she will go to protect the wolves. Then a shocking revelation about Daniel challenges Lydia’s reality in ways she could never have predicted. Some fates demand courage, while others require even more, with no guarantees. Is she destined to have true love...or will a soul-shattering loss ruin her forever?



CLAIMED

Chapter 1


Town of Walters, est. 1834

Upstate New York


Lydia Susi’s Destiny came for her in the veil, on a random Thursday in the early spring.

As she ran along the wooded trail, two miles into a loop that would take her through the preserve’s northeastern acreage, she was measuring the glowing line that topped the contours of the mountains. Soon, the stripe would expand to an aura, and after that, the sun would accept the handoff from the moon, and day would arrive.

Her grandfather had always told her there were two twilights, two gloamings, and if you wanted to find your past, you went into the pines in the evening as the sun went down. If you wanted your future to come to you, you went alone into the forest in the veil, during that sacred transition of night into morning. There, he’d told her, when the distinction between that which ruled the light and that which held domain over the dark was at its narrowest, when the moon and the sun reached for each other before the rotations of their orbits tore them asunder, there was when the mortal could brush up against the infinite and seek answers, direction, guidance.

Of course, that did not mean you got good news. Or what you wanted.

But life was not an à la carte buffet where you could choose everything that went on your plate—another words-of-wisdom from a man who had lived to be 101 years old still smoking a pipe and drinking a glass of sima after his dinner year round.

Why limit spring to just Vappu? he’d said.

Lydia had never believed in his superstitions. She was a researcher, a scientist, and the kinds of things that her isoisa had gone on about did not fit in with that Ph.D. in biology she’d bought on layaway from the federal government and was still paying off.

So no, she was not out looking for any prognosti-cation from the universe this morning. She was get-ting her workout done before she headed into her office at the Wolf Study Project. With the way things had been going lately, she was going to blink and it would be seven at night. Short-staffed and under-funded, everything was a fight for resources at WSP, and by the time she locked things up every evening, she was exhausted. So Carpe Cardio was her motto and why she was out in this misty darkness—

Lydia let her stride peter to a halt.

Her breath pumped in clouds that captured and held the moonlight, and as a breeze came across the trail, her body did the same with the chill, grabbing it out of the air and bringing it in under her wind-breaker.

As she shivered, she looked behind herself. The trail she was on was the widest one in the preserve, a highway rather than a street, but she couldn’t see much into the trees. Pines crowded up close to the shoulders of the packed path, and the fog wafting through the craggy trunks and fluffy boughs obscured the forest even more.

In a quick calculation, she figured she was a good three miles from any other human, two miles from her car at the trailhead’s parking area, and a hundred yards from what had caught her attention.

There, up ahead, something was close to the ground, moving.

Fight or flight, Lydia, she thought. What’s it going to be.

She reached around to the small of her back. There were two cylinders mounted on the strap of her fanny pack, and she left the Mace where it was. Clicking on her flashlight and bringing it forward, she swung the beam in a wide arc—

The eyes flashed over on the left, a set of retinas flaring the light back at her as pinpoints. The stare was about three feet from the ground and the pupils were set close together, as predators’ were.

Lydia looked around again.

“I’m not going to bother you,” she said. But like the gray wolf spoke English?

The growl was soft. And then came the rustling. The animal was prowling toward her.

“Oh, shit.”

Except . . .

Lydia kept the beam down on the fallen pine needles as she, too, walked forward. Something was wrong with the wolf, its gait wobbly and uneven. Yet the spirit of the hunter remained undeterred—and she was identified as its target.

She was about twenty feet away when she got a sense of the fully mature male. He was filled out, at a healthy weight of about a hundred and thirty pounds, and his mottled white, gray, and brown fur was thick and lush, especially at the tail. But his head was hanging at a bad angle, and he was dragging his back paws as he continued to close the distance between them.

It was obvious when the wolf was going to collapse. Though his head remained forward, his body listed to the side, his will staying strong even as his rear legs, and then his forelegs, gave out.

He landed on the soft bed of pine needles on his side, and the struggle was immediate, useless paws batting at thin air and ground cover. As Lydia drew a little closer to him, he snarled, flashing long white fangs, his golden eyes narrowing.

“Shh . . .” she said as she kneeled down.

Her hand shook as she got out her cell phone. As she called a number from her favorites, she tried to keep her breathing steady.

In the flashlight’s beam, she could see the grayness of those gums. The wolf was dying—and she knew why.

“God damn it, pick up, pick up—” Her words ma-chine gun’d from her mouth. “Rick? Wake up, I’ve got another one. On the main trail—what? Yes, it’s the same—enough with the talking, get your ass out of bed. I’m on the loop, about two miles into the—huh? Yes, bring everything, and hurry.”

She cut the connection as her voice gave out.

Letting herself fall back to a sit, she stared into those beautiful eyes and tried to project love, acceptance, gentleness . . . compassion. And something got through, the majestic male’s muzzle relaxing, its paws falling still, his flank rising and falling in a shuddering breath.

Or maybe it was dying right now.

“Help is coming,” she said hoarsely to the animal.

Wednesday, May 5, 2021

It's about the get REEL!

Reel, Kennedy Ryan’s new breathtaking standalone romance set in the glamorous world of film and theater, is coming June 8th, and we have the beautiful cover and your first look!  Read an excerpt and enter to win one of 10 paperback copies below. 

Reel by Kennedy Ryan Book Cover
Cover Designer: Lori Jackson Design
Photographer: Sophia Barrett Studios
Models: Jasmine Raiford and Ajayi Bodden 
Add Reel to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/3upMOqY

Award-Winning Wall Street Journal Bestselling author Kennedy Ryan launches a brand new series with a Hollywood tale of wild ambition, artistic obsession, and unrelenting love.


One moment in the spotlight.


For months I stood by, an understudy waiting in the wings, preparing for my time to shine. 

I never imagined he would watch in the audience that night. 

Canon Holt.

Famous film director.

Fascinating. Talented. Fine.

Before I could catch my breath, everything changed. 

I went from backstage Broadway to center stage Hollywood.

From being unknown, to my name, Neevah Saint, on everyone’s lips.

Canon casts me in a star-studded Harlem Renaissance biopic, catapulting me into another stratosphere. 


But stars shine brightest in the dead of night.

Forbidden attraction, scandal and circumstances  beyond my control jeopardize my dream.

Could this one shot—the role of a lifetime, the love of a lifetime—cost me everything?


Reserve your copy today!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3vOBDsB

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/Reel

Apple Books: https://apple.co/2QMZZUN

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*Affiliate Links


Enter the Goodreads Giveaway! Kennedy is giving away 10 Signed Reel Paperbacks!

http://bit.ly/REELGoodreadsGive


Follow Hollywood Renaissance series on Instagram:

@TheHollywoodRenaissanceSeries



Keep reading for the very first excerpt from Reel! 


When the show reaches its climax, at the very end, the song pries the final note from my diaphragm, pulls it from my throat and suspends it—leaves it throbbing in the air. The theater goes quiet for the space of a breath held by 800 people and then explodes. 

Applause.

The relief is knee-weakening. I literally have to grab John, the lead actor's arm for support. He doesn’t miss a beat, pulling me into his side and squeezing.

“Bravo,” he whispers, a broad, genuine smile spread across his face. The last song made me cry, and my face, still wet from those tears, splits into a wide, disbelieving grin.

I did it. I survived my first Broadway performance. 

The lights drop and we rush backstage, a cacophony of laughter and chatter filling the hidden passageways. When the curtain call begins, the cast return to the stage in small waves, the applause building as the principals take their bows. 

And then it’s my turn. On legs still shaky, I leave the safety of the wings, the long skirt of my costume belling out around me. I take center stage. The applause crescendos, approval vibrating through my bones and jolting my soul. Someone thrusts flowers into my arms and the sweet smell wafts around me. Every sense, every molecule of my being strains, opens, stretches to absorb this small slice of triumph. I can’t breathe deeply enough. The air comes in shallow sips, and I’m dizzy. The world spins like a top, a kaleidoscope of colors and light and sound that threatens to overwhelm me. The whirl of it makes me giddy, and I laugh. Eyes welling with tears, I laugh.

These are the moments a lifetime in the making. We toil in the shadows of our dreams. In the alleys of preparation and hard work where it’s dark and nothing’s promised. For years, we cling by a thread of hope and imagination, dedicating our lives to a pursuit with no guarantees.

But tonight, if only for tonight, it’s all worth it.

I’m still floating when Takira bursts into the dressing room.

“Neevah!” she screams, throwing her arms around me and rocking me back and forth. “You did it. You chewed that performance up and spat it out. You hear me?”

I laugh and return her squeeze, new tears trailing down my cheeks. 

“Thank you.” I pull back to peer into my friend’s face. “I can’t believe it.”

“Well, believe it. You served notice.” She snaps her fingers and grins. “Neevah Saint is here.”

“Now to do it seven more times.” I laugh and start taking pins from the wig, which is as hot as a herd of sheep on my head.

“Oh, you got it, unless Elise hears how amazing you were and cuts her vacation short.”

“Not happening. She was ready for a break, but she’d never missed a show.” 

I strip off the costume and stand in only panties, unselfconscious. Modesty is one of the first things to go in this business. I’ve undressed hurriedly in a roomful of actors and dancers in smaller shows where there was a dressing room, so we get real communal real fast. 

I tug on skinny jeans with a tight-fitting orange sweater, and layer it with a brown leather jacket, scarf, boots. I wipe away the heavy stage makeup. It feels like my skin can breathe for the first time in hours. I assume there will be some fans at the stage door, even if it’s just a few. They’ll have to get the real Neevah because I don’t want anything more than a slick of lip gloss and a bit of mascara. A brown, orange and green plaid newsboy cap covering the neat cornrows I wore under my wig is all I’m doing for hair. Slim oversized gold hoops in my ears finish the look.

“Ready?” I ask Takira, hefting a slouchy bag on my shoulder.

“Let’s do this. Hopefully your adoring fans won’t take all night, ’cause your girl is starving.”

We’re still laughing, and I’m so preoccupied with my empty stomach, I’m completely unprepared for the crowd at the stage door. Are they here for John? For some principal player because surely they’re not all here for the understudy.

“Neevah!” a young girl, maybe ten or eleven, calls. “Can you sign this?”

She thrusts a pen and a Splendor playbill toward me. She glows, her smooth brown cheeks rounded with a wide grin. Her eyes shine with . . . pride?

“Oh, sure,” I mumble dazedly, taking the pen and signing my name. 

She’s the first in a long line of girls, all shapes and colors and ages, saying what it meant to see me onstage. Mothers whispering how impactful it was for their Black and brown daughters to be in the audience tonight. The impact is on me; what could feel like a weight or burden or responsibility feels like a warm embrace. Feels like strong arms encircling me. Supporting me. The first time I saw someone who looked like me onstage, it planted a seed inside of me. It whispered a dream.

That could be you.

It makes me emotional to think I might have done that for any of these girls tonight, and I spend the next twenty minutes scribbling my name on playbills through a film of tears.

“Neevah!” a deep male voice calls from the back of the now-thinning crowd.

I squint at the tall man, frowning until I place him.

“Wright!” I take a few steps and he meets me halfway, giving me a tight hug. “Oh, my God. You were here tonight?”

“Was I here?” When he pulls back, a warm smile creases his handsome face. “You blew it out of the water. I knew you were good, but damn.”

Laughter spills out of me and I don’t think this night could get more perfect. I randomly met Wright Bellamy a few weeks back at a gig when he subbed for the pianist, giving the audience more than they bargained for with such a famous musician tickling the ivories that night.

“Thank you.” I step away and shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans, huddling in the leather jacket against the chill of an October night. “I was nervous as hell.”

“Didn’t show. Your voice is spectacular. I knew that from the gig we did, but I had no idea you were that good. Wow. Glad I saw your post on Instagram or I would’ve missed it.”

I’m stone-still, shocked that he came tonight specifically to see me perform. “I’m so glad you made it. You’re still in LA, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m here for some stuff. Heading back home in a few days.”

Takira walks up, linking her arm through mine. “Girl, if we don’t get some food,” she whispers.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” I turn back to Wright. “Takira, this is Wright Bellamy. Wright, my friend Takira.”

“Nice to meet you,” Takira says. “You got any food on you? I’m about to eat your hat.” 

As usual, Takira never meets a stranger and has us laughing right away.

“We’re actually headed to Glass House Tavern,” I tell Wright. “Come if you want. It’s a group of us from the show. Just some of the cast celebrating, but you’re welcome. We can catch up.”

A small frown dents between his thick brows and he glances over his shoulder.

“I mean, no pressure obviously,” I rush to assure him. This is one of the biggest names in music, and here I go, inviting him to dinner with a group of strangers. 

“No, it sounds cool,” he says, looking back to us. “Lemme check with my boy. Can he come?”

I glance over his shoulder and spot a tall man turned away from us, his broad shoulders and back straining a wool blazer, a hoodie pulled up to cover his head and face in the cold. His hands burrow into the pockets of his blazer and he’s nodding like he’s talking to himself.

“He’s on the phone,” Wright explains. “But lemme see if he wants to roll.”

He steps away toward the man and Takira immediately squeezes my hand and squeals.

“Neeve.” Her eyes are wide and bright. Mouth dropped open. “That’s Wright Bellamy.”

“I know. He’s cool as a fan.”

“You know him? How—”

“We’re in,” Wright says, stepping back up beside us. “He’s finishing a call, but we’re ready. Lead the way.”

It’s just a few blocks, and the three of us chat about the show and what Wright’s been doing in New York. All the while his friend’s deep voice rumbles a few paces behind. I don’t want to be rude or nosy and look back, but the rich timbre, his towering height, his face obscured by the hoodie—I’m intrigued. He hangs back on the sidewalk, still on his call, when we enter the restaurant. 

Our friends already have a table and a shout goes up, congratulating me on popping my White Way cherry. My three understudy buddies came. John’s here, too, and one other principal. A few from the stage crew. Our little troupe has become a family and, as if eight shows a week isn’t enough time together, we gather and eat every chance we get. 

“You’re not paying tonight,” John says, holding out the seat beside him. “And drinks are on me.”

“Awwww.” I plop into the chair and drop my bag to the floor. “You’re so sweet. You don’t have to do that.”

“You were fantastic,” John says, baby blue eyes sincere and smiling. “Let’s do it again tomorrow.”

Takira is already sitting beside me, so Wright takes the seat next to her.

“Hey,” he says to Janie across the table. “Could you hold that seat beside you for my friend? He’s wrapping up a call, but’ll be in soon.”

“Sure.” Janie blushes. “I love your work, by the way. The score of Silent Midnight . . . gah.” 

“Thank you. That was a special project. Lots of fun,” Wright replies with a smile. “Now tell me about the show.”

Wright’s a genius, but he’s so unassuming and modest. A man as famous as he is could easily make this conversation about him, let everyone at this table give his ego a real nice hand job, but he doesn’t. He talks about our show, compliments the performance, asks John about his process. I liked him when we did that last-minute gig, and we’ve interacted some on social media since. My impression of him holds up. He’s a good guy. 

Not to state the obvious, but also fine. Like fine fine.

He has this Boris Kodjoe vibe. Real smooth. Kind of golden–brown. Clean-cut, close-cut. I can objectively recognize his appeal, even though he’s not my type. 

Not that I have a type lately. I’m so deep in this dick drought I’m past the point of thirst. 

At first I thought it was merely the grind. Auditioning constantly, taking craft classes, doing commercials and voiceover work to not just keep bills paid, but to save. This business is feast or famine. I’m eating now, but I’ve been hungry before. Not again. I’m thirty. Too old to still be living gig to gig and buying into that starving artist thing. I need health insurance and regularly scheduled meals, thank you very much. So yeah, the grind could account for my semi-disinterested libido, but I suspect it’s more. 

Maybe I’m disinterested.

I need a man who doesn’t think that because he has a dick and I don’t that I should defer to him—shrink my dreams down to a more manageable size. I’m cautious not only about who I share my heart and body with, but I’m also protective of my dreams; of my ambition. I won’t endanger my future for a man who can fuck. Though . . . a man who can fuck? I wouldn’t turn it down, but it will take more than that to pique my interest.

“What are you getting?” Takira asks, leaning over to read my menu instead of hers. “Anything here meet your high standards?”

My standards aren’t that high. I’ve just cut out red meat and stopped drinking as much alcohol. My health demands it. 

“I’m thinking about the salmon, but I—”

A chair scraping across the floor catches my attention. Wright’s friend has finally come inside to join us. The table shrinks immediately when he settles his imposing frame into the seat beside Janie. He peels the hood away from his head and I bite off a gasp.

It’s Canon Holt.

Like the Canon Holt.

The director I, and probably every actress at this table and in this dining room, would sacrifice a pinky toe to work with. Canon Holt is at my table sitting across from me. 

Takira’s expression doesn’t register this massive earthquake of a revelation, but she kicks me under the table and hisses from the corner of her mouth. “Did you know?”

I pretend I need to reach for something on the floor so I can whisper back, “Do you think I would have kept my shit together this long if I knew?”

“True. True.” Takira casually glances up from her menu and smiles in Canon’s general direction, but he’s not looking at her. He’s studying his screen. He’s apparently in an exclusive relationship with his phone, and no one at this table tempts him to stray.

Which means I can look at him.

Good. God.

He’s not that handsome, but that’s irrelevant. Some might even call his features, examined on their own, unremarkable. 

They’d be wrong.

It’s a Maker’s sleight of hand. Now God knew this man did not need lashes that long and thick, a paradox against the hard, high slant of his cheekbones. Canon hasn’t looked twice at anyone here as far as I can tell, but I’ve stolen enough glances to know there’s a fathomlessness to his dark eyes that is arresting. His unsmiling mouth is wide, the lips full in the blunt elegance of his face. A five o’clock shadow licks the ridge of his jawline. There is a geometry to him—angles, lines, edges—that disregards the individual parts and illuminates the compelling sum.

WANT MORE REEL? Click here for the rest >> www.thehollywoodrenaissanceseries.com/excerpt 



About Kennedy Ryan


A USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author, Kennedy Ryan and her writings have been featured in Chicken Soup for the Soul, USA Today, Entertainment Weekly, Glamour, Cosmo, TIME, O Mag and many others. A RITA® Award winner, Kennedy writes empowered women from all walks of life and centers those who have found themselves perennially on the margins of traditional storytelling. 


Her Hoops Series (Long Shot, Block Shot and Hook Shot) and All the King's Men Series (The Kingmaker, The Rebel King and Queen Move) have been optioned for television.


An autism mom, Kennedy co-founded LIFT 4 Autism, an annual charitable initiative, and has appeared on Headline News, Montel Williams, NPR and other media outlets as an advocate for autism families. She is a wife to her lifetime lover and mother to an extraordinary son.



Connect with Kennedy 



Text KennedyRyan to 797979 for release alerts!

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Tuesday, March 2, 2021

Excerpt: Used by Kate Dunbar

USED, a brand new standalone romantic suspense from debut author Kate Dunbar, will be releasing on March 8, 2021 on all retailers!  Read an excerpt below. 

Used by Kate Dunbar Book cover

Pre-order:

Amazon US  https://amzn.to/3e3aj4a

Amazon Intl  https://geni.us/4fBU5

Apple  https://apple.co/3risUMX

Kobo  https://fave.co/2YJInt3

Nook  http://bit.ly/2LMTD4z

Audio  https://amzn.to/3rb8oyb

Paperback  https://amzn.to/3kzGLwc

Goodreads  https://bit.ly/38AlFct


Synopsis:

Heartbreakingly beautiful and completely engrossing, Used is packed full of twists, turns, and a gripping romance sure to leave readers emotionally spent and asking for more.


At the age of seventeen, after a decade of lies, hurt, and severe abuse by her brother Lucas, Sabra Valentine is able to breathe.


Lucas is behind bars thanks in large part to Sabra's quick thinking and self-preservation-even if that's one more secret she has to keep.


Now, seven years later, life is moving forward, and Sabra is starting to heal, live, and love again with her friends and Trevor Collins by her side. He's tall, dark, and sexy, and he doesn't fall for Sabra's games. The future is finally looking bright-until one phone call shatters everything.


Used is a romantic suspense with domestic thriller elements. Please be aware that there are topics that may be triggers for some readers, and this work is meant for mature readers.


Excerpt

Trevor moves behind me as we climb through the boulders and follow the path to our destination. He places his hand on the small of my back to help me navigate. I slip on some loose rocks and slide backward. But Trevor reaches around to steady me. Always the gentleman. Always there for me. 

I smile at him and whisper a soft thanks. Reward him with the light touch of my lips on his. The kiss deepens, electricity crackling between us, and I pull away. Trevor lets me go but not before he brushes his fingers across my chest. My nipples immediately harden under his touch and his intake of breath lets me know he felt it too. There’s no hiding it even if he hadn’t felt it. The light of the moon shines bright overhead, illuminating the path before us. And the lace bra, while amazing for its push-up factor, paired with the t-shirt doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Which is exactly why I chose it. 

Trevor pulls me into his arms when I take a quick step forward and slides his hands across my chest. This time they stop when they hit their mark. He gives a slight tug on my nipple through the shirt, growling in my ear, “Are you sure we can’t stop right here?” 

I turn in his arms and grin at him wickedly. “I promise it will be worth the wait.” 

“That’s what you keep saying. And while I fully believe that statement—think I’ve proved that over the years—I think it might be worth taking a quick break.”

I can’t form a reply as the power shifts between us. Trevor pushes his leg between mine, backing me against one of the rocks. It’s taller than I am. Than Trevor is. Our own little cocoon of solitude. 

His mouth locks on mine. Two hands land on my ass, hitching my hips closer to him. His tongue parts my lips and he teases me. My pulse quickens and I pull away gasping for air. It’s all the pause and encouragement he needs, giving him time to grab the hem of my shirt and lift it over my head. 

I don’t stop him. Who can see us now? This is right where I want him. 

I place my hands on his chest, slide them to the top of his jeans, and allow my fingertips to stroke the trail of dark hair leading to uncharted territory. Then I move in, kissing my way up his neck, back to his lips. 

Trevor has other plans. He ducks his head, kisses my collarbone heading south, leaving a path of fire. I close my eyes and feel my body tighten, reacting when his tongue finds my nipple through the lace. We may not get to the blanket after all. 

I pull away, trying not to seem too eager, but Trevor grips my waist and brings me closer. His tongue slides, sucks and flicks my nipple through the lace bra. My arms make their way around him and I play with the hair at the back of his neck. 

It can’t possibly get any better than this. His fingers move to the lace cupping my breasts and release me into the air. I feel his warm mouth take in the entire pinkness of my nipple and I’m done. I guess it can get better. 

Trevor: Two, Sabra: Two

His hands roam all over me, rubbing against my bare skin. Through my jeans. My body is short-circuiting. It’s wet everywhere that matters. I’m going to explode if I don’t get some sort of release soon. 

I move my hands down his hips to the button-fly on his jeans. My fingers tremble with the thought of releasing him and being able to touch him. Taste him. His mouth takes turns, moving between my breasts. It curves into a smile against my chest. He stands with one final flick of his tongue, pulls the lace back over my breast, and takes a small step backward. 

What the hell? 

Trevor’s eyes bore a hole in mine. He smirks at my confusion. “I’d say that was enough of a rest. Should we keep going?” He laughs out loud, a full belly laugh, when he sees the grimace across my face. 

“Really, Trevor? You can just stop like that?”

“I’m sure if your mouth had been on me it would be a different story, but you kept your lips to yourself—for the most part—and, instead, mine were on you.” He slips closer and whispers in my ear, “Tasting you. Sliding over you. And by your reaction, they were doing okay for themselves. It looks like two can play this game.” He takes a step forward. “You coming?” 

Damn. 

Trevor: Three, Sabra: Two. 

Thursday, January 21, 2021

Hot Excerpt: Prince Charming (Cinderella #2) by K. Webster

Prince Charming, a Cinderella novel, from  K. Webster is coming on January 26th!  Read an excerpt below.  You can start this series for 99 cents!  Download Stroke of Midnight on Amazon or from other retail outlets below. 

Prince Charming by K. Webster Book Cover

PRINCE CHARMING (Cinderella #2) by K. Webster

Release Date: January 26th

Add to Goodreads: 

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/55509539-prince-charming



Preorder Prince Charming TODAY: 

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2MftrQE

Apple: http://apple.co/3qxFgjU

B&N: http://bit.ly/3oeKm3z

Kobo: https://fave.co/39VHNNY

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Start the Series today with Stroke of Midnight! 

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Blurb:

Winston Constantine is no prince charming...

I crave him so badly I think I might be losing my mind. He's right in front of me, but he’s just as remote as my dreams of getting away from my stepbrothers. I keep playing his twisted games, and I want to stay just as distant as he is. But I can’t. I never could. I’ve fallen for him. Hopelessly. Irrevocably.

But Winston isn’t a lover, he’s a business venture.

A way for me to pay for college.

A ticket out.

He’s never pretended to be anything other than that.

I can’t blame him for making me fall in love.

There can be no happily ever after between a maid and a prince, no matter what the stories say.



Excerpt:

“Let’s see what the poor maid bought her boss,” he taunts, his fingers digging into my thighs as he roughly holds onto me.

“I didn’t buy it,” I sass back. “I made it.”

He rolls his eyes, making him seem much younger like Keaton. It makes me laugh. I reach over to the nightstand and grab the envelope off the top.

“Here.”

“A gift card to Starbucks. How original.”

I smack at his bare chest. “It’s not a gift card, asshole.”

He smirks as he opens the card. His brow lifts in question as he pulls out a handmade booklet. “Coupons.”

I grin at him. “Cool, right?”

Ignoring me, he flips open the booklet. “A coupon for one free massage from Ash.” His eyes dart to mine, amusement dancing in them. “I could go to the spa and get a massage from someone qualified.”

“Would they do it naked?” I taunt.

“Hmm,” is all he says as he flips to the next page. “Bedtime story by Ash. A bedtime story, huh? A story about the big, bad wolf with his dick up Goldilocks’s ass?”

I cackle and smack him again. “You’re an idiot.”

He flips the page and shakes his head. “A free cuddle. I can assure you, I’m never using this coupon.”

I pout, earning a smile from him. “You never know. They don’t expire so you’re good there.”

“You thought of everything, I see,” he remarks, his eyes back on the booklet. “A trip to the candy store. Hmm.”

“There’s a really neat place where you can mix and match—”

“I don’t eat candy,” he interrupts, flashing me his perfect white teeth.

“Fine, we’ll buy some for Perry. We’re going and soon. I’m running low on cherry Starburst.”

He flips the page. “Movie night in Winston’s bed.”

“Sounds fun, right?”

“All of this sounds like torture if we’re being honest.”

“But you love torture,” I argue.

“When I’m the one doing the torturing.” He tosses the coupon book away and grabs onto my neck, pulling me to him. “That was the most ridiculous gift I’ve ever received.”

“You’re welcome,” I say with a grin.

His lips press to mine, and he kisses me like he’s thankful for the most ridiculous gift. Since I was naked and waiting for him, it doesn’t take long for him to shove his boxers down, freeing his thick, eager cock. Greedily, I slide up and down his length, letting him feel how hot he gets me. His tongue spears into my mouth, and his grip on my ass is nearly painful. I arch my back, lining my opening up with the tip of his dick and then flex my hips so that he slides inside my body. With a hard thrust, he bucks into me. His fingers are going to leave bruises as he forcefully guides me to meet his rhythm. I pant heavily against his mouth, trying to keep up with his maddening pace.

“Oh god,” I groan, grinding against him, loving how he hits me in all the right spots. “So good.”

He pinches my nipple and twists it until I whimper. His lips pepper me with hungry, open-mouthed kisses along my jaw. When he gets to my throat, he sucks hard enough to make me gasp. With each powerful thrust up into me, I grow more and more dizzy by the need to come. Raking my nails over his chest, I revel in the sharp hiss that escapes him. He nips at my throat hard enough I cry out.

Mine.

I feel the word whispered over my flesh more than I hear it. It’s enough to send me over the edge. Stars glitter around me as my orgasm tears through me, obliterating my every nerve ending. He comes with a growl that sets my soul on fire. Heat floods into me, claiming me as his, just like he said.

I collapse onto his sweaty chest, breathing heavily. “How much to keep you right here for the night just like this?”

“Everything you earned tonight.”

It’s then, I realize we can do this. Without the money if we have to. I’d have to get a real job and an apartment, but we could still have this. We could keep our games and our fantastic sex and our teasing conversations. He’s protective and caring and in tune with my needs.

I’m not Meredith.

I would take care of his heart, not break it.

He just has to let me inside.

“Deal.” I stroke my finger over his shoulder. “Happy birthday, Win.”

“Indeed it is, Cinderelliott.”

I make him happy.

The billionaire who has everything finds enjoyment in the company of me. Some might say it’s a fairy tale ending, but even I know Winston’s no charming prince.



About K. Webster:

K Webster is a USA Today Bestselling author. Her titles have claimed many bestseller tags in numerous categories, are translated in multiple languages, and have been adapted into audiobooks. She lives in “Tornado Alley” with her husband, two children, and her baby dog named Blue. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, drinking copious amounts of coffee, and researching aliens.


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